Andersen’s Fairy Tales

In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the
people came out on all the balconies in the street—for one
must have air, even if one be accustomed to be
mahogany!* It was lively both up and down the street.
Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into
the street—chairs and tables were brought forth—and
candles burnt—yes, above a thousand lights were
burning—and the one talked and the other sung; and
people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along
with a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on. The
street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and
shooting, with devils and detonating balls—and there
came corpse bearers and hood wearers—for there were
funerals with psalm and hymn—and then the din of
carriages driving and company arriving: yes, it was, in
truth, lively enough down in the street. Only in that single
house, which stood opposite that in which the learned
foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one lived
there, for there stood flowers in the balcony—they grew
so well in the sun’s heat! and that they could not do unless
they were watered—and some one must water them—
there must be somebody there. The door opposite was
also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at
least in the front room; further in there was heard the